Paradise Gained
by Athenaeinhiding
Summary: ONE-SHOT. A sort of EC view of what happens after Christine and the little rat man leave. I mean, who doesn't want to see Erik happy? I make no claim on reality in this story...


_**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. Weber and Leroux own the phantom, and I am left with the crazed shadows running rampant through my mind. _

_A/N: The characters in this story look as they did in the movie (who could resist thinking of Gerard Butler?), but the plotline is based more heavily on the Leroux's book. _

"_I am death ..." _

_-Erik_

"I am dying of … love… daroga… I am dying of love…"

Erik recalled the words he spoke to his half-friend only a short time ago. He had not lied or exaggerated in the slightest; he was indeed dying. He could feel the blood slowing in his veins; he heard a faint ringing in his ears; his vision was swiftly blurring. He crept into his coffin for what was to be the last time.

Closing his eyes, he drifted into musings of his beloved Christine. Tears began streaming down his face, and whether they were from the thoughts of joy Christine brought or the pain of her absence, he could not say.

He was loved for his own sake. Somehow, deep down, buried under mountains and mountains of despair and pain, he knew that. He remembered the kiss he gave her; he remembered the fear in his heart as he leaned towards her, and the absolute bliss that followed when her flesh did not shrink from his lips. He remembered the kiss she gave him, on his ruined forehead, freely and of her own will. How could she have withstood his ugliness, not screaming, not turning away? He was loved for his own sake; he was sure of that.

His heart began to race. He began to gasp for breath; his entire body shook and nearly knocked his coffin from its stand. Was this supposed to be happening? So far, dying had been a slow process and much like falling asleep. He even dreamed of his Christine; why could those thoughts not be his afterlife? Why could he not drown in visions of her for all eternity?

His skin began to tingle, a thousand tiny needles jabbing him. The cursed ringing in his ear changed in tone; it became mournful, desperate. Then, instead of needles, those jabs turned into knives. "So this is what is in store for me?" he roared into the blackness of his bedchamber, "Am I to be damned for my crimes? Then Satan may reclaim his offspring!" And Erik began to laugh maniacally and hysterically at the pain. It meant nothing to him. He was dying of love, dying for his Christine, and all pain was welcome to him; it was something he could give her that Raoul never could.

His vision completely left him. The blood pounded through his head. The ringing noise of before increased in intensity. A sharp pain ripped through his chest. Once more, and again, and yet again, he screamed, laughed, sang, and cried at his agony as the pains returned.

Suddenly, the pain stopped. All sensation stopped, except for the ringing in his ears, crying and wailing out a formidable requiem.

His vision returned to normal. His body felt more fit and whole than it had ever had before in his life. His pulse felt completely normal. The ringing in his ears remained, but instead of the mournful tone it held before, it was now filled with hope and passion. It seemed like a voice. It was a voice. "Christine!" Erik sang boldly and loudly, overjoyed to hear her once more. "My Angel of music, come to me!"

The voice seemed to come closer, approaching him, but slowly. He stepped out of the coffin to meet it. He did not notice the form of a man left inside.

"Oh, Christine…" he allowed his thoughts to settle on her. He was loved for his own sake. Somehow he knew that. He remembered the kiss he gave her, the absolute bliss that followed when her flesh met his lips. He remembered the kiss she gave him, on his forehead, freely and of her own will. He was loved for his own sake; he was sure of that.

He also remembered something; something was wrong. After that perfect kiss, did… no, nothing was wrong. Yes, something was. That boy… what boy? He tried to steal… what? Nothing was missing. He must leave off these thoughts for later. Christine was waiting, and he would tear the world apart at the seams to keep her from feeling the slightest bit of anxiety. He must hurry. Where was she?

He was running now; up and up and up beyond his basement, beyond the cellars, up to the stage. His beloved siren's voice called him on, and, careless of all others he saw, he rushed toward her. He failed to notice that those others did not take notice of him either. He sprinted faster and faster until he stopped, sliding on the highly polished wood.

Christine was before him, sliding as he was. Her eyes locked on his, and, mesmerized, did not stray. They met in the middle of the stage and touched. First, hand to hand. Their hands traveled up to each other's faces and they touched, heart to heart, bodies pressed. Erik saw his angel light up, her smile blasting all darkness from his soul. He leaned in towards her, meaning to grace her lips for the very first time.

He stopped, noticing a ring on her finger. She smiled and looked up at him, whispering softly, "don't be so shocked, my love. How could you not remember? You, who wrote the most beautiful wedding mass there ever was and could ever be…" "but… how… what…?" he shook his head, trying to remember, but all that passed through his mind was fog. "My angel, my light, and my husband… no more thoughts of darkness… we have all the time in the world…" "Christine, I love you" Erik sang, and he could hear her soul singing with him. "I gave you my soul when I sang" she answered him, "you should know I would follow you… anywhere…"

And with that, the phantom buried his lips in hers, for the first time, giving way to passion and light.


End file.
